Acoustical
by Ria Rose
Summary: Finding out that they were wrong about Tony was hard enough without the honesty of the lyrics flaunting their own flaws for the whole bar to see. One-shot, rated for language.


**This is my first posted NCIS story, no major spoilers. I like to hurt Tony…Don't judge me! And I like to make the other characters (though I do love them all), see that Tony is just as human as they are. Sometimes I really get sick of their disregard for his feelings. Anyway, this was, in part, thought up because of an interview with Sexy Face…I mean Michael Weatherly…where he said he'd like to see Tony playing guitar in some seedy bar since, really, he's got to be a lonely guy. Oh, and please, PLEASE, I LOVE the alerts but it's reviews that REALLY get me warm and fuzzy inside! And on that note…we cue the music! (Obscure yet perfectly relevant movie references FTW!)**

Acoustical

_Words, like nature, half __reveal__ and half conceal the soul within._ – Alfred Lord Tennyson

They didn't realize that they had done it again until they arrived at the bar and the damn entertainment was Tony and a guitar they never even knew he played. It was at that moment that they all were shot with the same stunning jolt of a thought: Somehow, in all his supposed effervescence, Tony had become forgettable.

Abby sat down in the nearest booth with a hard thud, her eyes welling with tears as she watched the man she _had _thought of as one of her best friends sing into the microphone up on the stage; you just didn't forget to invite your best friend out after work. Next to her, Ziva slid onto the bench, her face barely concealing her own self-imposed devastation and across from them, Gibbs and McGee took their own seats, leaving Palmer to tug over an empty chair.

"What the hell is wrong with us?" Abby spoke, hardly heard over the surprisingly melodic voice coming through the speakers.

Ziva laid her hands flat on the scratched and dented wood of the table. She swallowed and looked down at them, her fingers splayed with tension. "We are idiots."

"He had to have heard us talking about it, you know, coming here, going out? You know? For a few beers?" Abby glanced at Gibbs, but he was too busy studying Tony on the small and rounded stage. Dressed in blue jeans, black boots and a fitted black t-shirt, his acoustic guitar balanced on his knees as he sat on a stool, Tony looked every bit the musician they didn't even know he was. He strummed, he sang, and he let out the emotions and pieces of himself he never showed anyone he actually knew in person, the chords ringing clear through the amp set up behind him.

_"Somewhere down this line I lost what once was mine, somehow I lost track, lost track of every rhyme, opening up the safe, hiding away the signs, you never knew, you never cared, you never took the time…"_

It was like that day when he and Ziva were locked in the container and he found out about the dinner party he wasn't invited to. They acted like it was okay. They acted like Tony didn't care. He was unflappable, he was sunny-side-up, he was happy no matter what. They ignored the hurt in his eyes, the way he hesitated before his jokes about Ziva's cooking, just like they ignored every sign that Tony wasn't only some optimistic robot, that he was human just like they were. He hid his real self so well and if they were honest they liked pretending right along with him, that he was okay, fine, untouchable. It was so much easier to swim in the ignorance than to sit there and drown in the truth he was singing on the stage.

McGee couldn't look at him any longer. His guilt was suffocating and having to see the openness of Tony's face along with the divulging lyrics was just too much. Tony was supposed to be so damn strong; it physically _hurt_ to hear the pain in that voice, he felt like his chest was caving in with every lyric and Tim had to place his palm flat over his heart and press against it just to ease the aching. The last time he felt this sort of protective pain he had opened his door to see his sister with blood on her hands.

_"I guess you'll just see through me,"_ Tony sang the refrain of his song, _"I guess I was never more than a silly little smile, a happy little bore, I guess you'll just look through me, what am I shocked for? I guess I always knew, I just never saw."_ When Tony sang, his body rocked like a frightened child. On the most painful of the lyrics, he closed his eyes and when his voice wasn't needed, when the guitar had to dance on its own, he dropped his head, like he was ashamed at the secrets he was releasing. It was so raw, so revealing, so utterly open that you couldn't help but sit up and listen.

The next time McGee looked up, he was surprised to see the culpability displayed across Gibbs' face so candidly. "Boss," McGee started, but he couldn't finish. Gibbs looked over to him briefly, but he couldn't keep his eyes off his Second, they drifted back to Tony and the earnest way with which he exposed himself.

When the song ended, Palmer was the only one of the group to clap. The others, too stunned to react, made no movement to even show that they heard the applause. On stage, Tony was talking.

"Thank you," he smiled to the crowd and at the whoops and cheers they called out to him, a small blush creeping up his neck. "Wrote this next one in response to a shitty childhood, sure some of you can relate." There was a ripple of laughter. "I toyed with calling it 'How You Fucked Me Up' but decided to keep the title, at least, rated Disney." More chuckles, though the group in the back didn't even crack a smile. "So instead I just titled it: Should've Named Me Mistake. How many Mistakes we got out there?" One woman at the bar jumped up and down, a man in the front raised both hands, a few called out; the table in the back did nothing. "Well, this is to all you Mistakes out there. To those whose parents actually wanted you? A big ol' FUCK YOU!" There was more laughter; Gibbs slammed his hand down on the table.

_"Somewhere around the third olive, Little Boy hides. He knows better than to let Sir hear his desperate cries. Don't be seen, don't be heard, be remembered and then be burned by cigars or lighters or the silver tipped belt, Little Shit you know better than to scream for help. Whelp, whelp, welt, belt, Shake crate, should've named me Mistake."_

Abby was crying. Ziva was visibly shaking with anger. Palmer's jaw was on the ground. McGee was breathing hard in effort to hold back his own tears.

And Gibbs…Gibbs was digging his nails into his palms. Forcing himself not to react, not to run up to the stage and beg Tony for forgiveness, breaking his own stupid rules. He felt sick, his stomach rolling with nausea at hearing things he only ever suspected about Tony's past.

"What do we do now?" Ziva finally asked. "We cannot go back to our…to our ignorance. It was unkind to Tony; he does not deserve that…that _abject cruelty_."

"We'll be nice to him, we'll tease him like he teases us, but we'll lose the malice," McGee answered, "Because he's never been deliberately hateful to any of us. We'll _remember him_. Until we forget again."

"He's supposed to be my best friend. I tell him everything." Abby said, sniffling and wiping tears. "He always listens to me; he always tries to cheer me up."

"We will not forget again," Ziva snapped, "we cannot!" She was clenching her fists, "Damn it all!" She exclaimed, slamming her fist onto the table. "It is not supposed to be like this! Damn it! Damn it!" McGee blinked, unaccustomed to hearing such an American curse come from her lips. "This is not…He is supposed to be…Tony has always been…" She deflated. "How did we miss this?" Her eyes wide, she turned back to the stage. "He was…an abused child. He was abused. Tony was… Why did he not tell us? Does he not trust us?"

"I don't think we have any right to think that, Ziva." Four pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at Palmer. He stammered for a moment before deciding, Screw it! and diving right in. "In case you forgot, we're the ones who forgot to invite him out. Why should he tell us about his childhood? Why should he even tell us that he plays guitar and writes brutal lyrics and performs at some hole in the wall bar at the edge of town? Why should he trust any of us? _We_ forgot about _him_, not the other way around. _And he knows it_."

The nausea increased in Gibbs' stomach to the point that he had to inhale deeply in an attempt to quell it. He was suddenly angry. Angry that he had Tony's father within reach _twice_ and he didn't ring the bastard's neck. Angry that Tony never confided in him. Angry that he never gave Tony a reason to confide in him. Angry that he allowed the rest of the team to abuse Tony as well. Angry that Ziva didn't invite him to dinner all those years ago. Angry that he didn't think to invite him that night. Angry that Tony hid himself so well that no one ever suspected he was ever anything other than okay.

The applause was dying away for the end of the song, the woman at the bar cheering the loudest and Tony was speaking again. "This next one is has a doozie of a title that none of you will understand but, eh, whatever. It's called: Sawdust and Coffee." The whole table turned to stare at Gibbs as the team leader went uncharacteristically white. They weren't stupid. They weren't the rest of the crowd. They _got _the title. "Wrote this a few years ago, have added to it since."

"Gibbs," Abby said, reaching across the table to put her hand on his. He shook his head, years of pretend indifference forcing him to swallow, to breathe, to act like none of this bothered him. That he didn't mind that Tony wrote a song that was obviously about him, that he wasn't afraid of the content of the lyrics, that he didn't care when he did, damn it, he cared and he cared too much. This was DiNozzo, this was Tony…

_"How could you just walk out on me, how could you up and quit? How could you act like we don't matter, how could you throw that fit? I could call it abandonment, I think that word suits you; you walked away without an answer, you only said, 'You'll do.'" _Gibbs felt the heat begin to rise up his neck, the others were intent on the stage and he was grateful for small miracles, but still, he knew what they were thinking. Tony was right. He deserted them; he had a temper tantrum and flipped out. _"…I was never irreplaceable, trust me, I know how it is, you only said it to shut me up, in the end you're just like he is."_

He couldn't take it anymore, every wall he had put up and every defense against revealing his emotions came down hard. Gibbs stood, his face marred with desolation. The words came out before he could stop them, "I'm not like your father, Tony, I'm not…" The rest of the team looked up at their fearless leader with something akin to shock coupled with defeat. If Gibbs was falling apart from this, what hope did they have?

McGee rubbed his face and did the only thing he could think to do, he tugged Gibbs back down into the seat. The Marine dropped heavily, letting his subordinate manipulate him back into a sitting position. This was supposed to be a relaxing night, they were supposed to have gone out for a few drinks, laugh, hang out, and go home to enjoy the weekend. They weren't supposed to be sitting in a booth in a bar with no alcohol anywhere near their lips, ready to start bawling at the candid lyrics being sung by someone they thought they knew.

"We should go." Abby finally said. "I feel like…like we're invading his privacy. We don't deserve to know any of this."

And instead of staying and revealing themselves to Tony like he was to them, they left. Abby leading the way, followed by Ziva, McGee with his head down, Jimmy with his hands deep in his pockets and Gibbs, trailing slower to listen to the chords and the voice that forced wisdom and guilt to curve around their bodies like the strap from the guitar curved around Tony's back. They pushed through the door and out into the brisk winter, more than ready to head to their homes and bask in selfish pretense. None of them noticed the sad hazel eyes watching as they fled the bar. None of them knew that when the door shut behind them, the music stopped, the echoes of the last notes hanging in the air and haunting the patrons before beginning again, just like always, just like nothing had ever happened in the first place.

The End.


End file.
